Spark
by xxkoffeexx
Summary: Bored and unmotivated, there is one who can’t help but feel inspired by Shitenhouji’s tennis captain. [Shiraishi Kuranosuke centric]


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Spark

_By __xxkoffeexx_

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

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"Have you heard about the tennis team?"

"What, that they didn't win Nationals?"

"They made it to the semi-finals, right?"

She wrote down the homework for the class, ignoring her friends' conversation.

"Who beat them?"

"I heard it was last year's champion, Rikkai Dai…"

"Anyways. You know who next year's captain's going to be?"

"No. Who?"

Packing her books and pencil case, she announced, "Bye everyone," not expecting an answer. To her vague surprise, they answered. She wondered indifferently if this time their latest bit of gossip wasn't as juicy as it seemed, but when they immediately turned back to their discussion as if nothing happened she crossed the thought.

"So, the new captain?"

She slid open the door, stepping aside for an entering student, and thought dully about her after school activities. She wished she could just go home and sleep.

"Shiraishi Kuranosuke."

She closed the door.

* * *

It was the same things over and over again, day after day, month after month, until it became a never-ending cycle of her life.

"You're so good at the violin! Are you going to go pro?"

_I'm not that good. No. _

"Congratulations on placing first in the exams! You should apply to a high school in Tokyo."

_Thank you. No__, I shouldn't_

"You're the class representative _and_ the president of the debate club? You're amazing!"

_Yes, I am. No, I'm not. _

"You're so multi-talented! A regular on the tennis and volleyball team… wow."

_...So? _

It didn't matter if she was talented nor had skills that others would work five times as hard for. What was so great about being perfect if she didn't like any of it? What was so great about doing something without even trying? What was so great about something so utterly _boring_?

Nothing. It was nothing but a burden.

And sometimes, oftentimes, she wished that she wasn't so perfect.

* * *

Not long after her friends' conversation took place did the gossip take root and begin to spread. Now, everywhere she went or turned, someone was talking about the tennis team, or more specifically, the new captain.

She tried not to let it distract her, but finally gave up. It was only a matter of time before she saw him.

That time came the next morning. She would have passed right by without knowing if it weren't for someone calling loudly, "Oi, Shiraishi!" She looked up just as Shiraishi Kuranosuke strode past her, the waft of air following him making her blink in realization.

"Yeah," he called back, probably smiling at some tennis buddy or other, but she didn't know, nor did she care. She was already walking toward her friends, as if nothing happened. And nothing did.

Her friends thought otherwise, and told her so. "Isn't he so handsome?" they sighed. She said she didn't know, because she didn't see his face. Her memory of him was vague since he wasn't in any of her classes, but the detailed description her friends eagerly provided more than made up for it.

"Did you see his arm?" one of them asked curiously. She did, actually, and she wasn't very impressed. It was obvious that bandaging his arm was a cry for attention. Not that he needed any more of it; she rather thought he was all the talk of the campus, and any more attention would result in the media. Perhaps even nation-wide fame.

But then, she mused, if that did happen, he might realize that it wasn't so great after all. He might just regret ever wanting any attention.

And then she thought no more of it, because that was _his_ problem and not hers.

* * *

They whispered it in the halls, during class, outside the school, and on the tennis courts. It was a secret that everyone knew.

"Did you hear? _Perfect tennis._"

"What? Who?"

"Shiraishi Kuranosuke, of course."

It was a secret weapon that everyone spoke about with pride. They depended on it to carry them through Nationals. They believed in it.

_Of course_. Everything tennis-related seemed to revolve around him these days, and everything her friends talked about revolved around him. She felt like she was receiving more daily news updates about the tennis captain through her reliable friends than the local news. It was kind of sad.

"I heard Oshitari-kun call it 'The Bible.'"

"Eh? That's funny!"

"But it's true! They say that it's _perfect_."

_Perfect… huh? _

And for a brief moment she decided to care, and pitied Shiraishi Kuranosuke. For his tennis style to be called 'perfect' was going to be difficult, stressful and, inevitably, boring. She knew.

And perhaps he already knew that too.

* * *

It was a head-on collision, only without cars, and only her head and bottom suffered the effects. Her bag was intact fortunately, but most of her textbooks that had been in her arms unavoidably scattered on the ground. She wondered why her athletic reflexes hadn't kicked in and saved her from crashing so blindly, but it didn't really matter.

The idea that maybe she wasn't as perfect as she thought kept her from feeling irritated as she apologized. Or, rather, as she tried to apologize.

"Waah! I'm so sorry!" The frantic yell startled her, and she looked up to see a young boy with bright red hair staring at her books. "I'm sorry! I didn't watch where I was going, and I was trying to run—" He was speaking fast and the volume of his voice made her wince. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you or anything, did I? Do you need to see the nurse? If you do you can put it on my tab. I was in a hurry and—Here, I'll help!" He pounced on her books, brushing off the dirt vigorously and carefully handing them back.

"Thank you," she said, smiling faintly. "I'm fine, um, Toyama-san."

"Oh, that's a—Eh? How do you know my name?" He gaped at her.

It was obvious. Even without his regular's jacket and tennis bag she could easily match him with the rumors that had been flying around the school. The bright red hair, dancing hazel eyes, a loud voice and personality to match, and a wild energy that practically radiated from him… First year Toyama Kintarou was beginning to grow more famous than his captain. A fact that caught her attention.

She smiled again. "I heard about you. But weren't you in a hurry—?"

He jumped up and yelped, "I forgot! Crap, and I had a good head-start too!" With that he began to run. Then, almost as if remembering, he backtracked to her with a wide grin. Grabbing her free hand, he pumped it up and down, declaring, "You're nice. I like you. A lot of people would've been angry at me, but _you_ weren't! Thanks, it was nice—"

"_Kintarou_!"

Hurriedly he gabbled, "It was nice meeting you see you next time bye!" and took off in a cloud of dust. She blinked after him, her hand still feeling his grip.

Suddenly, a hand fell on her shoulder, and she whirled around to see the tennis captain. "Sorry," he said, "but can you tell me which way a boy with red hair went?" She wordlessly pointed, and he nodded in thanks, adding, "I'm sorry if he bothered you."

She watched him go and wondered how in the world he managed to keep the energetic first year under control. She also wondered if pointing him in the wrong direction was too mean, but then shrugged it off. If he was as great a captain as everyone said he was, then it really wouldn't matter. Maybe.

Or maybe she wanted to guide him off track, just a little, away from that perfect road.

* * *

They had their first student council meeting late after school. It was only the first week of her third year and already she was bored to death.

It didn't help that the day had started off badly. She forgot to set her alarm clock and was nearly late. Tardiness would have been totally fine with her, but she'd promised to meet with the debate club before school, so she had to rush. She forgot her lunch, as well as her pencil case, but she wasn't too worried since they were dispensable. Until she realized she'd left her wallet at home, along with a hair tie she usually wore for PE.

The day only went from bad to worse. In her rush, she didn't brush her hair, nor did she check her uniform, so she wasn't aware of her horrible state. For half the day she walked around receiving titters and weird stares, and it wasn't until one of her friends had the courage to say something that she realized her uniform was inside-out.

The list could go on and on. By the time school was over, she just wanted to go home and sleep, but she also forgot that there was the first annual student council meeting she had to attend. As the class representative, she had some power vested in her, and could have dumped the duty on the substitute class representative, but Oshitari Kenya had tennis practice.

At that very moment, she hated the boy's tennis club. And she hated it during the meeting, and continued to feel like that long after the meeting ended.

It was dark. She took the shortcut through the school, which she hardly took; reason being that it went straight past the tennis courts. The second reason being that it was nearly isolated and next to the woods—a suspicious and dangerous area for a lone girl to wander in. But that only happened in darker districts, where gangs roamed the streets like in the movies—

She froze. Tennis practice should have long ended a while ago, so there was no reason for the sounds to come from that direction.

She stopped again when she saw, standing in the shadows, an ambivalent figure. Instinct told her to run away fast, but then she saw that it was a man wearing a pale trench coat and a familiar-looking hat. Wasn't he the tennis team coach?

At first, she hesitated. Then, deciding it would be stupid to go all the way back, continued to walk. The sounds grew louder, accompanied by heavy breathing and shuffling sneakers. And when she saw him, she halted in her tracks again.

It was definitely the tennis captain, illuminated by the court lights and the moonlight. Tennis balls scattered all over the court, and he stood alone in the middle of it, gripping his racket and panting. Every time he swung the racket, she could see the drops of sweat fall, even from that distance. His shoes were visibly worn from endless hours of intense practice.

She watched for a while and, when he finally took a break, she continued to walk home. Her heart thudded against her chest with an emotion she couldn't identify, but it was plain her earlier bad mood had dissipated. On the contrary, she was rather impressed.

It amazed her that he would work so hard to perfect such a boring skill.

And deep inside, something in her sparked, ignited, and took flame.

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"Congratulations on placing first in the exams! What high school are you planning to apply to?"

She wanted to change a little. Perhaps feel a hint of what he felt as he pushed himself to perfect something that was already perfect. Possibly learn what it meant to _really_ work to her heart's content.

"... A high school in Tokyo."

Maybe, just maybe, perfect wasn't the limit.

END

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A/N: …Nope, this isn't a pairing between Shiraishi and an OC. I really don't want to stick a random girl in a story just for the sake of romance, no matter how much I love romance. And Shiraishi. The girl is only inspired by him. He doesn't really know her enough to fall madly in love. So it's all good, yeah?

Er, has anybody noticed it? My growing collection of captain stories told by a girl's perspective. Yeah… about that. _To__tally_ unintentional. I swear.

To Shiraishi-san: you think your tennis style is boring, but I beg to differ. _I_ find it quite hot. Sexy, even. Anyone who says Fuji Syusuke's style is inelegant has _got_ to be something amazing. And incredibly sexy. And… ahem.

Putting Shiraishi's hotness aside (this Author's Note is going nowhere); I'm desperately wondering if anybody's bothered by the nameless OC. I prefer not to name her, you see, to not make it so... _OC-ish_. Um… yeah. Sorry if referring the OC to "she" and "her" annoyed you to death. XD

Okay, that's enough. Thank you very much for taking time to read. I hope it was worth your while.

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